Matters of State

There was in Belgium once upon a time
No party coalition strong enough
To form a government. And this was fine –
They went without, a year and a half.



The Civil Service worked, commuters hurried,
The towns had running water, running trains.
The country seemed remarkably unworried.
And to this day, unworried it remains.



And that’s what got me thinking – nothing sinister,
But here it goes, a simple concept, that:
Instead of ministers or a Prime Minister,
In every cabinet post let’s have a cat.



And where there is an office of the President,
Let's give it to a furry, whiskered resident.
And we’ll have peace on Earth, in no time flat.



Just think of how complicity, not aptitude,
Is handed offices of state – and fails,
While cats display an independent cattitude,
Sometimes when they just sit and wash their tails.
And every cat has a routine to keep:
First, wash your tail; then get some beauty sleep.



Or badly drafted laws that all need signing –
If you're a President, you sign all those.
If you're a cat – you're stretching and reclining
Across the papers in an elegant pose.
An elegant pose for such an elegant chap!
And papers are the perfect place to nap.



Or, say, corruption lets you cheat and steal:
You make a cunning plan, a perfect plot...
But then, you hear a rustle and a squeal!
You have to check in out, do you not?
You track it to a dark and cozy spot.
You kill and eat it. Then you wash, a lot.



Perhaps a general looking for a war,
A stoked-up hawk, comes marching through your door.
His battle scars are desperately itching,
Down to his leather army boots he’s twitching,
Those big black boots that look and smell, and feel
Just like the doberman that’s often at his heel.



You arch your back and hiss at them, recoiling,
Your whiskers bristle, and your blood is boiling.
And then you pounce on your leather foe,
And sink your teeth into the general’s toe!



So days go by, a week, a month, a year,
Life carries on. Before you are aware,
The kid next door who’d only just turned three
Is doing a postgraduate degree.



Prime Minister is sitting very still,
He now takes up most of the windowsill.
Much of the time he'd rather have the chair,
But Foreign Secretary’s sleeping there.



The Minister of Justice yawns and smiles,
Then slowly shreds another stack of files.
The Chancellor is washing his white socks,
And then he sits and thinks – inside the box.



The Agriculture Minister is keeping
A mouse watch. A peaceful country’s sleeping.